


Forever wanting more

by chou_latte



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Body Worship, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon Compliant, Complete, Consensual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Gay Sex, Geralt's Canonically Huge Dick, Getting Together, Gratuitous Smut, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post s1e06, Rimming, Romance, Scent Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, a hint of angst, canonverse, jaskier getting the sweet loving he deserves, oh and i guess a bit of a songfic, they've been pining for FAR too long, with a hint of orgasm delay/denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23244601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chou_latte/pseuds/chou_latte
Summary: “Jaskier."Geralt took a slow step forward, towards him. His brows were furrowed, his expression contemplative, and if Jaskier didn’t know any better he would’ve said that Geralt was searching for words.“Yes, Geralt? That’s my name, you’ve been saying it an awful lot so far. Not that I mind really, it sounds delightful said in that deep, husky voice of yo-”“You’ve been running from me.”---------------Now with NSFW Art
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 94
Kudos: 1527





	Forever wanting more

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a little something I've been working on since early January when I first saw the netflix series, and I'm honestly very excited to share it with you all. 
> 
> Also, there's roughly 5.5k of gratuitous porn in here, so be warned ;)

Time, so Jaskier thought, had always been a rather fleeting concept to him.

Some days, he felt as though weeks – months even – flew by faster than a hummingbird could flutter its wings. One adventure blending into the next; and all a humble bard could do was sing of the glorious tales and weave them into ballads worthy of being heard.

But sometimes? Well, sometimes his days felt much more like he was dragging himself through a thick swamp, filled with naught but drowners, trying to do to him what they were so eloquently named after.

It had been five months since the latter feeling had settled deep into his bones. Five months since that wretched mountain, and one since his last chance encounter with Geralt of Rivia.

Truth be told, Jaskier hadn’t expected any of their encounters to play out the way they had. Destiny had seen it fit to entangle their paths more than once since the dragon hunt, and yet here he was, in another tavern, surrounded by an abundance of people and still feeling oh so terribly _alone_. 

It wasn’t often that he chose to forgo the more frolicking tunes in his repertoire, knowing full well that there wasn’t much coin to be made from mournful songs. But tonight felt like one of those nights. So instead, he settled on the one melody that had been haunting him ever since. 

The chords were soft, the ensuing crescendo gentle for a song filled with such heartache.

 _The fairer sex, they often call it  
_ _But her love’s as unfair as a crook  
_ _It steals all my reason  
_ _Commits every treason  
_ _Of logic, with naught but a look_

His voice wasn’t filled with bitterness as he sang of Yennefer of Vengerberg. In lieu of venom, his lyrics were accompanied by somber acceptance.

Contrary to a certain witcher’s belief, Jaskier was no fool.

He knew. Had known from the moment Geralt had made that last, dreadful wish that his heart was to be shattered to pieces. He just hadn’t known _when_.

 _A storm breaking on the horizon  
_ _Of longing and heartache and lust_

There was a light tremor in his voice now, his tone wistful, yearning as he got closer to the lines he’d refused to sing out loud for the longest time.

Music had been his outlet ever since he was little. The soft melodies the one place where he didn’t need to hold back, where he could express himself freely, where he could let himself _feel_. And for the past couple of months, he hadn’t even allowed himself that.

The sorrow had been too fresh, the association with the white wolf too strong. 

Yes, he’d written songs about his previous heartbreaks, and no, he certainly was no stranger to a broken heart, but this time it felt like his heart wasn’t merely broken. It lay bruised and tattered on the ground, pieces shattered away, broken off where he’d so carefully mended it before.

**_"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”_ **

The words had stung. They still did despite the awkward, fumbled apology Geralt had grunted out the first time their paths had crossed, a month after the hunt.

Jaskier had forgiven him. Of course he had. One might argue that he’d possibly been way too lenient with his forgiveness, but truly, Geralt’s words had been forgiven the moment they had been uttered. He’d seen the hurt on Geralt’s stoic expression, had heard the tightness in his voice as he’d yelled at him. His posture rigid, shoulders tense, like a wounded animal, ready to lash out at anyone careless enough to threaten it. And careless Jaskier had been.

His forgiveness, however, didn’t mean that he was out to get hurt again. No, thank you very much.

Geralt’s words still lingered. They’d buried themselves deep inside his mind, like rotten maggots, festering and making themselves known when Jaskier least wanted or needed them to.

They made him question himself.

And while Geralt had apologized, the wound was still fresh. It might have been haphazardly stitched together and bandaged up, but Jaskier was far from keen on hearing similarly treacherous words from the witcher again. _Filling-less pie_ , was all he had to say to that. 

It had hurt to come to the conclusion he’d arrived at during their first chance encounter, but in the end they both needed some distance from one another. He would never be able to mend his broken heart if he kept running into the object of his infatuation every other week.

So with a heavy heart, he’d insisted on renting separate rooms, the coin be damned. He’d never joined the brooding hulk of a man for an ale after he’d finished his songs, instead he’d gone straight to his room. Sleep had evaded him, as it quite often did nowadays. And upon the first light of dawn he’d left in a hurry, mind set on going the opposite direction of wherever Geralt was headed to.

The look of mild confusion in those golden eyes never truly left him cold, though. Not the first time they ran into each other after his hasty escape, nor the third, when he’d all but repeated the same pattern twice. 

He’d tried to act the same. To be his jovial, babbling self whenever Geralt had tried to hold a semblance of a conversation with him, but he no longer trailed after the man like an overjoyed pup. 

In turn, the white wolf’s expression had grown more somber, troubled even. Furrowed brows and narrowed eyes weren’t an exactly uncommon look on Geralt of Rivia, but Jaskier had known the man long enough to be able to at least somewhat read him. Whether the witcher’s sour mood had anything to do with his behavior or not, however, remained indiscernible to Jaskier. If experience had taught him one thing, though, then it was most likely the latter.

Taking a deep breath he tried to shake the wistful thoughts. It would do him no good to dwell on unattainable fantasies.

Nimble fingers danced over the strings of his lute instead, luring a forlorn melody out and into the open. It almost felt like he was coaxing himself out of a closet he’d hidden away in for the past couple of months. Letting his emotions out felt gratifying, liberating, really.

He was about to start his next verse, the emotions thick on his tongue when the tavern door opened and a sudden hush fell over the crowd.

Bollocks.

He knew that reaction. 

With his heart in his throat, he tried to find his next chord, but the flash of white in his periphery was temptation enough for him to glance over.

Their eyes met, and Jaskier’s poor, battered heart stuttered.

 _S-she’s always bad news  
_ _It’s always lose, lose_

Closing his eyes to shield himself from the sharp, penetrating stare, Jakier pressed on.

 _So tell me love, tell me love  
_ _How is that just?_

How was it just? How was it just of Geralt to waltz into the one tavern he’d sought refuge in? The one time he felt put together enough to actually sing of the woes that had been a constant thorn in his side these past few moons?

How was any of it just?

 _But the story is this  
_ _She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss  
_ _Her sweet kiss_

Jaskier shuddered. He could feel the heavy gaze on him. It felt unsettling, but not in the way he had imagined it so. 

_But the story is this  
_ _She’ll destroy with 'er sweet kiss_

Keeping his eyes shut tight, he felt his voice quaver for a second, hesitant to start the next verse.

Amber eyes were burning a hole into him now, searching, analyzing, perhaps accusing even. But Jaskier couldn’t heed them.

He was lost. Lost to the feelings he’d so long denied. Lost to the emotions threatening to overwhelm him like a tidal wave, building and building until one could naught but quake at the towering wall of water in front of them. 

_Her current is pulling you closer  
_ _And charging the hot, humid night  
_ _The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you_ **_fool  
_** _Better stay out of sight  
_ And what fools they both had been.  
 _I’m weak my love, and I am wanting_

His voice cracked, his heart aching as he let the words tumble over his lips. His truest desires laid bare.

He’d wanted. Oh, how much he’d wanted. Had pined and yearned; had told himself that he was content to just stumble along for the ride, but there was only so much a man could take.

 _If this is the path I must trudge  
_ _I welcome my sentence  
_ _Give to you my penance  
_ _Garrotter, jury and judge_

Strangled, he’d felt. As if a noose had been pulled taut around his neck whenever he so much as thought about singing of the true sorrow chipping away at him. He’d accepted the constricting sensation, grown used to it even. Perhaps that was the fate destiny had bestowed upon him after all?

And then she had thrown Geralt at him. Again and again. And each time it got harder to resist. Harder to pull away again. Harder to not let himself fall again.

Destiny seemed to be a fickle bitch.

 _But the story is this  
_ _She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss  
_ _Her sweet kiss_  
 _But the story is this  
_ _She’ll destroy with 'er sweet kiss_

He let his last run fade out into the quiet of the room, the chord forlorn as it dissipated into silence.

His fingers lingered on the lute; taking a small reprieve in the familiar instrument as his thoughts came rushing back. His heart hammered in his chest, panic rising within him as he realized what he’d just _done_.

Taking a shaky breath, he opened his eyes.

Geralt was still there. Staring at him with his arms crossed. Something unrecognizable flashed in the witcher’s eyes, and Jaskier had to avert his gaze to try and find his footing again.

Geralt’s appearance left him unhinged.

He felt too vulnerable; too out in the open to be pried apart by molten gold.

Ignoring the few pieces of coin that had been flung his way during the performance, Jaskier fumbled for his lute case. He couldn’t stay. He needed to get out of here.

Turning his back on the piercing gaze, he plastered on a half-hearted smile and excused himself from the crowd. 

With all the grace of a newborn fawn, he scampered off towards his room; keen on getting at least some form of a physical barrier between himself and Geralt as the emotional walls he had so carefully constructed during these past few months had all but crumbled to the ground.

It had been _foolish_ to sing the song. Utterly foolish.

What had he been thinking? Even if Geralt hadn’t stumbled his way into this tavern, the song might have still reached his ears eventually. He usually prided himself in his ballads spreading across the lands, delighted by the admiration of his artistry, but not this time.

This time, he’d screwed up.

Bollocks.

What was he to do now? Hide in his room? Run with his tail between his legs? Hope that destiny wouldn’t throw the white wolf at him again?

“Jaskier.”

Fuck.

The choice was taken from him as his name reverberated in the small confines of his room, the low sound echoing like tiny ripples wobbling their way across the surface of a pond, ebbing out and away until nothing was left to hint at the sudden disturbance.

Geralt stood in the open door frame, watching him carefully. He didn’t move, just stood there, silently observing his reaction. Almost as if the wolf was afraid of spooking his prey. 

And prey he was. There was no escaping this. No escaping the dreaded discussion they were inevitably about to have. No escaping getting his heart shattered to pieces once more.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called again,his voice caught somewhere between concern and apprehension.

“Ah! Fancy meeting you here, Geralt. I hadn’t exactly expected to run into you in this quaint little town,” he babbled, trying his hardest to avoid addressing the griffin in the room. “Not much going on here. So, what brings you here? Another monster? A contrac-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interjected, seemingly not in the mood for his obvious diversions. The way he said his name this time though, a hint of fondness mixed into the serious, resolute tone… Shit. His poor, hopeless heart skipped a beat.

Geralt took a slow step forward, towards him. His brows were furrowed, his expression contemplative, and if Jaskier didn’t know any better he would’ve said that Geralt was searching for words.

“Yes, Geralt? That’s my name, you’ve been saying it an awful lot so far. Not that I mind really, it sounds delightful said in that deep, husky voice of yo-” 

“You’ve been running from me.”

There it was.

“Running? Whatever gave you that impression? I have no reason to run from y-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, sounding exasperated now. “You’ve been running from me ever since that fucking mountain.” He took another step forward, and paused. “And that song,” he said, brows furrowed.

“Oh, you actually listened? One of my most recent tunes. Lovely, isn’t it? Inspired by a young, fair maiden I came across in a town near Oxen-”

“Cut the crap, Jaskier,” Geralt warned, eyes flashing as he took one more step into the room.

The witcher had never enjoyed being lied to - an unfortunately common occurrence in his trade - and Jaskier never had. Until today.

And yet Geralt’s next words lacked the previous bite, sounding thoughtful instead. “That song’s about Yen, isn’t it?”

Jaskier flinched and fumbled for his composure.

“Yennefer? I’d rather not think of the sorceress, so why in Melitele’s name would I _sing_ about her?

“But, that’s not all.” Geralt took another step forward, crowding him in. They were close. Too close Jaskier’s brain suddenly supplied in an alarmed shriek. Geralt had effectively closed the distance between them and was standing almost directly in front of him now. “The song’s about me too, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t.

There were no words. No excuses on his lips as Geralt looked at him.

_Geralt knew._

“Why are you here, Geralt?” he asked when he finally found his voice again. It sounded weak to his own ears; defeated, crushed; but he needed closure. If this was how this chapter ended, then he needed the last ink to dry sooner rather than later.

“I…” Geralt scowled, his eyes flicking to the side as he searched for the words. “It wasn’t the same.”

Jaskier’s heart clenched. Stupid, futile hope.

“What wasn’t?” he asked weakly, too tired to give into the sentiment.

“It wasn’t the same without you,” Geralt admitted.

For once, Jaskier didn’t say anything.

“You forgave me and yet you ran. It didn’t make sense. So I searched for you. It…” Geralt frowned, “it’s not the same without you by my side.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?”

Geralt huffed, frustrated how his own words were failing him. “It didn’t make sense. None of it did. Until just now, down in that tavern.”

A calloused hand reached out for him then, softly cupping his cheek and Jaskier had to fight the urge to nuzzle into the warmth.

“I missed you,” Geralt said, and in any other moment Jaskier might have laughed at how physically painful it looked for the witcher to talk about his feelings, but right then and there, he couldn’t bring himself to trample on the stubborn seed of hope taking root within his heart.

“And you figured that out just now? Down in that tavern?”

Bitter skepticism was laced into his tone, but he couldn’t help it. He needed words. Proper words.

“No,” Geralt grunted, rough but decisive. “Figured that out the moment I made you leave.”

Jaskier closed his eyes, stored the moment away as a heart-wrenching memory and asked the question he dreaded the most. “So what _did_ you realize just now, down in that tavern?”

“That you’re not the only one… _wanting_ ,” Geralt admitted, and took one last step towards him.

Jaskier’s breath hitched. “And… and what is it that you want, Geralt?”

“You,” Geralt said, “I want you, Jaskier.”

“Forgive my incredulity, but I have it on good authority that up until recently you’ve been rather infatuated with one raven-haired sorceress.”

“Yen’s in the past,” Geralt said, resolutely. “She’s not who I want to be with, Jaskier.”

Relief.

Sweet relief washed over him then, like the first rays of sunshine on a cold winter morning, and Jaskier couldn’t have fought the elation that followed suit even if he’d wanted to. He’d _yearned_ for those words. Had longed for his witcher to finally realize that the sorceress was no good for him.

The tender caress of Geralt’s thumb over his cheek caused a pleasant shiver to run down his spine, and Jaskier almost let a contented sigh. Amber eyes were fixed on him, imploringly, as if Geralt was trying to make him see.

“What Yen and I had wasn’t real. None of it was,” Geralt admitted. “It was an escape. I panicked, and bound myself to her.”

Geralt paused. He scowled slightly before letting out a long sigh.

“I was afraid of admitting the feelings I should’ve admitted long ago. I was a fool. Who didn’t realize that I had what I wanted all along… until it was gone.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, not trusting his voice just yet.

“There’s nothing between Yen and I, anymore” Geralt continued, undeterred. “It’s _you_ that I want, Jaskier.”

His mind reeled as the weight of Geralt’s words slowly started to sink in, and he almost couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Geralt here, in front of him? Talking about his _feelings_? Telling him that his love wasn’t a hopeless quest doomed for heartache after all?

But the truth was right there, reflected in those gem-like hues he’d fallen in love with and Jaskier would have to be blind not to see that. 

His breath caught at the realization, his battered heart skidding to an abrupt halt before it started fluttering again, reminiscent of a twittering songbird about to take its first flight.

“Took you long enough, you big oaf,” he chided softly.

Geralt merely hummed and pulled him closer, but Jaskier didn’t miss the slight upward twitch of his mouth.

“If all it took was me serenading about my feelings, then I should’ve done that a long time a-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, an amused smile curling on his lips as he closed the final distance between them. “Shut up.”

And then Geralt’s lips were on his.

Oh, sweet Melitele. _Finally_.

Jaskier’s breath hitched at the soft press of Geralt’s mouth against his, unable to stop himself from desperately leaning into the touch.

He’d _dreamed_ of this. Had longed for it. Had spent countless nights fantasizing about his witcher’s lips on his own. How it would feel. How he would taste.

But all his fantasies paled compared to reality.

Geralt’s lips were warm, slightly chapped, yet undeniably soft and welcoming, and Jaskier couldn’t help but moan as they tenderly slid against his own.

Closing his eyes, he reveled in the affectionate warmth spreading through him.

He felt whole. No longer lost in the treacherous swamp, trudging through thick mud and trying his damnedest to survive. No, he felt like he was wandering through fields of greenery, speckled with bright yellow flowers, the tips of his fingers kissing the blooming blossoms as he walked by, a gentle breeze tousling his hair.

He no longer felt weak.

_Merely wanton._

Abandoning any and all pretense, he threw his arms around Geralt’s shoulders and finally allowed the long-suppressed desire, the deep-rooted yearning coursing through his every vein to gain the upper-hand, kissing his white wolf back with all the enthusiasm he could find.

Nothing would ever compare to _this_.

To the feeling of Geralt’s surprisingly soft caresses against his lips, the movements slow yet deliberate, unhurried in their exploration of his mouth. To the sensation of Geralt’s firm body pressed tightly against his own. Of strong, muscled arms wrapped around him; of a large hand tilting his head to the side to gain better access. The touch gentle, reverent even.

A shiver ran down his spine when Geralt playfully nipped at his bottom lip, electric sparks tingling through his body at how right it felt to have the man in his arms.

His musings were cut short, a low gasp falling over his lips when Geralt at long last introduced his tongue into the mix. Heat surged through him as the witcher’s dexterous tongue delved into his mouth, his muscled arms pressing him more firmly against his body, caging him in. 

Opening his lips, Jaskier let out a lewd whine as Geralt licked his way inside and swirled his tongue around Jaskier’s; the strokes torturously teasing, yet deliciously thrilling.

His head was spinning, his breath hitching yet again as a deft hand slid over his side and under his doublet. The heated contact made him shiver, the feather-light touch of sword-calloused fingertips igniting the dried up kindling inside of him.

Desire was coursing heavily through his veins, and each swipe of Geralt’s lithe tongue against his own, each stroke of soft flesh against his only fueled the fire now burning brightly inside of him.

Breathing became almost irrelevant as Geralt’s tongue twirled against his, eager to explore his mouth and claim it as his own.

And Jaskier couldn’t get enough of it.

Tilting his head to the side he sucked on Geralt’s tongue, reveling in the filthy groan rumbling through the witcher’s chest in response. The hand on his side tensed and gripped him tighter, jerking him forward to press their tented arousals against each other.

“Ha, Gods, Ge-, mmmh,” Jaskier moaned, the broken words immediately swallowed by Geralt’s ravenous mouth.

He could feel himself quiver against the strong body holding him captive, his fingers fumbling for purchase in white strands of hair as Geralt licked his way back inside his mouth, deepening the kiss and making Jaskier’s mind positively _reel_.

A salacious moan slipped past his lips, the sound high-pitched and needy, begging for more, more, _more_. He needed, he wanted…

A small groan was all the warning he got before Geralt started dominating the kiss. Sharp teeth nipped at his bottom lip with more force, a teasing hint of what was to come before he delved back inside and started sucking on Jaskier’s tongue, rendering him into a shivering mess.

He felt ravished. Devoured. And he loved every bit of it.

Lewd moans and muffled whines echoed in the room, increasing in urgency as Geralt’s tongue swirled greedily against his own. The heated exchange was messy, frantic now. Neither of them willing to relinquish the hold they had on each other. Years of pent-up desire were finally being unleashed; both of them too desperate to taste, to take whatever the other was willing to give.

A carnal growl was torn from his wolf when Jaskier lightly bit down on Geralt’s tongue, the possessive sound causing his cock to twitch in ardent need, straining against the confines of his breeches. 

His body felt taut with pleasure, bouts of shivers wracking through his frame as Geralt’s hips rolled forward again.

_Gods. Yes._

Geralt’s dick was pressed up right against his own, the heated friction so teasingly delicious that Jaskier couldn’t help but keen at the sensation. He needed that cock in him. Now. 

Desperate hands fumbled for the straps on his witcher’s armor, frantic to get the pesky layers off. He wanted the man naked. Above him. Beneath him. Any way Geralt would have him.

A sudden but firm tug against his scalp diverted his efforts and caused a quiet gasp to fall over kiss-swollen lips; the sound quickly morphing into a lewd moan as Geralt’s mouth busied itself elsewhere, latching onto his throat and sucking mark after mark into damp flesh.

His body arched as sharp teeth grazed against his skin, the swipe of a hot tongue above his pulse point enough to make Jaskier groan for more. Geralt mouthed along his jaw, pressing teasing nips and bites on any skin he could find. A trail of glistening marks was left in his wake, the white wolf no doubt spurred on by the never-ending stream of appreciative moans and lustful whines tumbling over Jaskier’s lips.

_Bloody hell._

His gut tightened as Geralt’s wicked mouth closed around a new patch of skin on his throat, sucking another mark into the ever-growing collection blossoming there, his teeth grazing, bruising; all but claiming him as his own.

A heated tongue flicked over his collarbone next, Geralt laving at his skin, tasting the heated flesh as if he was drowning in ambrosia and Jaskier couldn’t help but moan helplessly at the thought.

His cock twitched in his stained breeches as teeth tugged at his earlobe, a low growl of approval rumbling straight into his ear, making him feel weak in the knees.

Frantic hands tugged on white locks then, urging his wolf to devour him once more. He hummed as their lips found each other again; the kiss searing, heated and sloppy, but Jaskier didn’t care.

Weaving his fingers into the soft strands of hair, he let his nails scratch lightly over Geralt’s scalp before tugging him forward. A filthy groan vibrated against his lips in response, Geralt bucking his hips sharply and causing Jaskier to mewl lewdly at the delicious friction on his cock.

In turn, Geralt’s tongue delved straight back into Jaskier’s mouth, large hands settling firmly on his ass and holding him in place for another mind-numbingly satisfying roll of Geralt’s hips.

 _Gods. Yes._

Jaskier keened at the long overdue stimulation, throwing his head back and effectively breaking their heated lip-lock, his own hips rolling forward in desperate need, frantic to feel Geralt’s cock against his own.

“Off,” he demanded, breathless and panting; shaking with barely restrained want as he tugged on the offending straps of armor with more fervor. “Off, off, off.”

He could feel Geralt’s husky chuckle rumble through the muscled chest pressed tightly against his own, and if he weren’t so utterly _wanton_ , so very desperate for the man standing in front of him, he would have reveled in the soft, intimate nuzzle against his temple that followed.

As it was however, he started tugging off his doublet in a frenzied hurry, making quick work of his breeches and letting them fall to the ground in an unceremonious heap. Batting the witcher’s wandering hands away, his chemise was tugged off in one well-practiced motion before he stood in front his wolf clad in nothing but his undergarments.

He shivered from the heated gaze raking shamelessly over his body. Hungry eyes were drinking him in, only a thin rim of molten gold remaining as Geralt’s pupils contracted and re-dilated with uninhibited arousal.

Calloused hands reached out for him, but Jaskier quickly stepped out of their reach. If he let Geralt have his way, he’d never get the man out of his armor.

Sauntering over towards his pack to retrieve the oil they’d doubtlessly need, he watched as Geralt finally seemed to get the message. Slowly, he started undoing the straps on his armor, taking piece by piece off and placing it on the floor; his heavy gaze never leaving Jaskier’s frame, half-lidded eyes tracking his every move attentively.

It was Jaskier’s turn however, to shamelessly ogle at the expanse of muscled torso gradually being revealed, the muscles sinewy and firm and full of power, all covered in little bumps and scars littering their way across porcelain skin. It wasn’t his first time seeing Geralt naked. Not by far.

But there was something about this moment in particular. Something about the unrestrained hunger brimming in amber eyes, something about the air between them crackling with unresolved tension that left him breathless.

Or maybe it was simply the heavy cock standing proudly between his witcher’s legs.

“Fuck, Geralt. Get over here,” he groaned as the last of Geralt’s clothing had been discarded.

“So impatient,” Geralt chuckled, but Jaskier could see the mirth dancing in those golden hues at how hopelessly eager he must look like.

At least Geralt didn’t need to be told twice. Within seconds the man was on him again, clever lips and wicked teeth finding the damp flesh of his throat almost blindly, strong hands stroking over his sides greedily. 

“Ah, I’ll have you know that I’ve… mmh, I’ve been waiting for this for decades, Geralt. _Decades_ ,” he sighed dramatically in between moans.

“Hmm, all the more reason to savor it,” Geralt whispered into his ear.

 _Oh_.

It seemed his wolf had plans for him tonight.

As if on cue those sinful hands finally slid beneath his undergarments and cupped his ass, kneading the supple flesh in a way that could only be described as _possessive_. An embarrassingly lascivious moan was torn from his throat then, Geralt’s fingers suddenly grazing over his hole, teasing him, nudging against his tight entrance.

The touch repeated itself, and Jaskier shuddered with fervent need. The urge to buck his hips against Geralt’s hard length became almost unbearable; he wanted to move, wanted those fingers inside of him, _deeper_.

But Geralt had other ideas.

Firm hands stopped him from rolling his hips and Jaskier’s own hands twitched on Geralt’s arms in frustration, a loud whine of disapproval echoing in the room.

Teeth tugged at his earlobe, a bit harder than before, almost in reprimand before light kisses were pressed into the skin beneath, and Jaskier shivered at the sensation. Those devilish fingers were still splayed on his ass, dipping in between the sensitive flesh and teasing his puckering hole with feather-light touches. It was maddening.

“Geralt,” he whined, more than eager to get on with it. He wanted more than just the whisper of a touch. He wanted to be fucked. Wanted to be complete and utterly _wrecked_ , to be ravished; devoured by the wolf in front of him.

A knee wedged itself between his legs then, and he was gently pushed towards the bed.

_Yes. Finally._

More than eager to comply Jaskier let himself be led, relishing in the way Geralt mouthed against any patch of skin he could find, unwilling to let go of him for even a second.

He let himself fall and his wolf followed dutifully.

There was a metaphor in there somewhere but Jaskier’s fuzzy mind couldn’t focus properly when Geralt loomed above him like _that_ , staring at him with an all-consuming hunger in his eyes. Geralt’s eyes raked over his body, trailing from kiss-swollen lips, to the litany of claiming marks and bites marring his skin, down to the straining cock lying heavily against his stomach.

A bead of precum was glistening at the tip and Geralt, dear gods, Geralt just licked his lips.

Jaskier’s hands shot up immediately, wrapping themselves around the witcher’s neck in a rather desperate attempt to pull him down. Geralt indulged him for a few moments, those soft lips pressing against his eagerly, his hot tongue tracing the outline of Jaskier’s lips gently before twirling briefly against his own.

When Geralt pulled back to mark the other side of his throat Jaskier was left panting, shivering as strong hands wandered down to his thighs.

The gods be damned.

His body shuddered as Geralt’s thumbs stroked across the sensitive flesh where his inner thigh met his groin, teasingly close to where he yearned for the touch. His cock twitched in a valiant effort to demand attention, but even when those wicked fingers trailed up, that same thumb ghosting over his hip bone, his length was ignored.

He whined, high and needy as those fingers trailed further up. No, down. He wanted them down.

A hopeless groan fell over his lips as nimble fingers found their mark, his body arching into the touch as Geralt started playing with his perked up nipple, rolling it softly between his fingers and alternating between gentle motions and pinching the sensitive bud.

“Ah, g-gods, Geralt.”

His hands flew up and wove into silver strands of hair as Geralt latched on to the other nipple, ravenously descending on the one that had been spared so far. Geralt sucked and bit on the bud, his fingers flicking the other one playfully as Jaskier let out a loud keen.

He could feel himself leaking precum onto his stomach, and the scent must have been enough to attract his wolf’s attention. His thighs were spread apart further, Geralt slotting himself right in between them and leaning over his pliant body to lap up the small puddle of precum pooling next to his straining erection.

His breath ghosted over Jaskier’s cock and were it not for the strong hands holding his hips down, he might have bucked the witcher right off of him.

“Geralt,” he moaned, but his wolf didn’t heed. Instead, the jackass started teasingly sucking a mark next to his hip bone, close enough for his hair to tickle his sensitive flesh yet too far from where he frantically craved for the touch.

“Yes, Jaskier?” Geralt asked almost innocently, humming around a patch of flesh on his thigh.

“Stop, mmh, stop teasing,” he groaned. His fingers tugged at silver strands; the frustration, the desperation, the shameless desire getting the better out of him.

“As you wish.”

He faintly noted the dangerous glint in Geralt’s eyes and then he was suddenly folded in half.

“Oh, fuck!”

He keened as a hot tongue lapped at his entrance, the sensation almost too much for his tightly wound body. He shivered, hands frantically tightening their grip on Geralt’s hair. And Geralt just _hummed_. Fucking hummed as his tongue flicked out again, licking against his rim, long and slow, as if there was nothing he’d enjoy doing more right now. No place he’d rather be than between Jaskier’s legs.

Geralt’s tongue flicked and twirled against his hole, his broad frame pushing his legs further apart as he pressed his entire face against Jaskier’s ass. It felt nearly overwhelming how his witcher feasted on him, intent on devouring him whole judging by the way his tongue swept insistently, greedily over his puckering rim.

Jaskier mewled, his thighs quivering as the firm point of a tongue pressed at his swollen ring, prodding gently until it gave way.

“Ah, mmh, Geralt!”

He let out a filthy sob when that lithe tongue breached his hole, fucking in and out of his clenching muscle with remarkable gentleness. Stars danced across his vision as Geralt licked deeper, thrusting his tongue in as far as it would go, eagerly taking everything he had to give, and Jaskier couldn’t help but rock back against his face, moaning incoherently, his body trembling with the onslaught of pleasure.

He was writhing on Geralt’s tongue now, cursing and praising the man at the same time for being so goddamned _thorough_ , for greedily taking everything he had to give. His taste, his scent the only thing his wolf wanted to chase.

Trembling, he let out a cry as an oil-slick finger teased against his rim and then slowly pressed in. Stifled whimpers fell over his lips when Geralt’s tongue and finger alternated in a teasing pattern inside of him. And the sight. Oh, gods, the sight. 

Geralt of Rivia, his witcher, his white wolf between his legs, silver strands falling over his face as he swirled his tongue impossibly deep, his finger searching, prodding.

Jaskier’s toes curled as a second finger joined, his ass eagerly eating the digit up, greedy for anything Geralt willing to give him. His cock throbbed desperately against his belly when Geralt slid his fingers all the way in to the knuckle, the hard length utterly neglected and Jaskier was just about to remedy that when a firm hand grasped his own.

“No,” Geralt growled against his ass, the heated breath fanning over his wet entrance and making him shiver.

“Please,” Jaskier begged, trying hard to stay focused when those wicked fingers were still busy opening him up.

“No touching your cock, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled, his eyes flashing with warning.

But he needed... he couldn’t.

The hand that wasn’t being held prisoner in Geralt’s grasp twitched towards his straining erection and within a flash Geralt had moved. The witcher’s fingers were still lodged deep inside his ass but he was now hovering above him, his other hand pinning Jaskier’s wrists above his head.

“I said, ‘No’, Jask,” he growled.

Fuck.

His feverish mind couldn’t quite decide whether to moan or groan at the manhandling, but his cock (the traitor) gave an eager twitch that seemed to be telling enough for Geralt.

“Please,” he whispered, breathy and needy, so desperate for any form of friction. “Please, Geralt.”

“Please what, Jask?” Geralt asked, crooking his fingers.

A desperate keen tumbled over his lips and cut off his reply, his body arching into the strong hold as his prostate was nailed head on. Heat surged through him at the sensation, sparks of pleasure tingling down his spine as Geralt pressed his fingers rhythmically against the spot. Moan after moan left his lips, mixing beautifully with the filthy squelching sounds echoing through the room.

“What do you want, Jask?” Geralt asked again, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he watched him writhing on the sheets.

The fingers were drawn back. A small reprieve, he hoped.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Please fu- mmmh!!” 

Jaskier groaned as his tight channel was stretched with a circular motion before those wicked fingers plunged back inside, only this time there were three.

He gasped at the stretch, the feeling of three fingers lodged deep inside his ass enough to make him sing. His hands fought against the firm hold on him, desperate to touch the man who was slowly taking him apart.

His body trembled, his thighs spreading apart automatically as the pleasure continued to wreck through every fiber of his being, his ass angling upward, fervently begging for more.

“Please fuck me,” he begged, finally getting the words out.

“But I _am_ fucking you, Jask,” Geralt replied calmly and pressed his fingers right against Jaskier’s prostate, milking the bundle of nerves with rhythmic strokes.

The bastard.

His cock jerked against his stomach, precum flowing freely from the tip as it throbbed and twitched, frantic for the release he could feel building up inside of him. He was close. He could feel the tension, the heat in his belly growing.

“Gods,” he sobbed, mind reeling as those fingers continued to wriggle inside of him, stroking against that sensitive spot on every third push in. Jaskier let out another series of moans as the strokes became more insistent, his body spasming, fingers clenching on thin air where they were being held.

_So close._

He could feel himself tethering on the edge, but he needed something. Something more to bring him over.

Sharp teeth nipped at his neck as Geralt twisted his wrist, and suddenly he could feel the teasing sensation of a nail scraping gently against his prostate.

“Come for me, Jask,” Geralt encouraged, his voice deep, rumbling straight into his ear. And that was it.

That was all he needed.

He cried out as his body jolted upwards, the pleasure wrecking through him in waves as he spurted hot, white ribbons all over his stomach. A lewd moan was wrenched from his throat as those wicked fingers continued to work him through his orgasm, milking him for all he was worth. He could feel his hole flutter around the digits lodged between his cheeks, small tremors jolting through him as Geralt kept them buried deep inside of him.

He was panting; his chest heaving as he slowly started to come down from the high.

“Melitele’s tits be damned, that was amazing, Geralt,” he sighed in post-orgasmic bliss, his eyes closed, still trying to collect his wit.

He wriggled slightly, signaling to the other that he should let him go, but contrary to what he’d expected, Geralt didn’t relent right away. His eyes blinked open, swiveling up in slight confusion and what he saw then had him gulp heavily in anticipation.

Dilated pupils stared at him hungrily, a sly smile on his witcher’s lips and before Jaskier had time to open his mouth, those clever fingertips rubbed over his prostate once more.

“A-h, g-ods, have mercy, Geralt,” he whined, a protesting whimper slipping past his lips at the delicious overstimulation. He had his doubts that he could take much more, especially right now, but a part of him was eager to try.

He writhed as Geralt stretched his fingers inside of him, but he could already feel himself hardening again as the witcher curled them just _so_.

Jaskier groaned at the sensations coursing through his body, pain and pleasure mixing together in a heady concoction that left him breathless. He felt winded, strung too tight, and just when he was about to speak out that it was too much, Geralt nuzzled into his damp hair and pressed a tender kiss to his temple. “You’re doing so well for me, Jask.”

A needy moan escaped him at the praise, the pain of the overstimulation slowly turning back into jolts of pleasure. Every gentle nudge of Geralt’s talented fingers, every kiss pressed onto his damp skin rekindled the embers inside of him. He wanted that man. Oh, how much he wanted his brooding witcher. To feel Geralt’s body pressed against his, those wandering hands over his thighs, holding him close, keeping him safe. To feel that cock press inside of him, feel Geralt filling him up in all the right ways.

His dick twitched at the thought, standing proudly once more and suddenly the fingers inside of him were gone.

Jaskier’s gaze flickered up, landing on Geralt’s expression as the other man let out a satisfied hum at the sight in front of him. And what a sight he must be. Naked, sprawled out on the sheets and so rightfully marked up, his hole open, clenching on thin air, desperate to be filled again.

The pressure on his hands lifted, Geralt’s thumb tracing over his wrist before he reached for the oil and coated his thick shaft in it. The filthy squelching sound echoed through the room, and Jaskier couldn’t help but shudder with want.

“Geralt,” he breathed. His hands lifted up to reach out for the other’s face; eager to have those lips pressed against his once more.

Geralt leaned down, those molten eyes fixed on him, fondness and something else swirling in those golden hues. A sword-calloused hand cupped his cheek then, and he could feel the nudge of something big press against his hole.

“Ready, Jask?”

The question was rumbled against his lips, Geralt’s breath fanning over his face and Jaskier felt like drowning in the heady scent curling around him.

“Been ready since Posada,” he murmured back and curled his hand at the base of Geralt’s neck to pull him down.

Their lips met and Jaskier let out a soft hum. 

This kiss wasn’t feverish like their last one. No, it was tender, filled with emotion, filled with all the feelings they had so long repressed.

Their lips curled around each other reverently, Geralt sucking on his bottom lip, nibbling at the swollen flesh before releasing it once more.

And just when that lithe tongue licked its way back into his mouth, Jaskier could feel the head of that hard length slowly tease over his hole, leaving a hot, slick trail around the rim before finally pressing inside.

Gods.

Geralt was fucking massive.

He could feel the stretch, the burning sensation tingling through him as Geralt slowly pressed deeper inside. The sound of his groan was muffled by Geralt’s ravenous mouth, unrelenting in its endeavour to render him breathless. He shivered, eyes shut tight as he tried to relax around the intrusion.

Deeper and deeper Geralt sank, so torturously slow, so careful not to hurt him, until Jaskier felt like the breath had been punched right out of him.

He could feel Geralt settled all the way inside of him, strong hands stroking over his sides in silent reassurance. Geralt had broken their kiss in favor of leaning his forehead against his, their panted breaths mingling as their eyes found each other.

“You okay, Jask?”

Melitele preserve him. The tenderness with which Geralt was treating him was doing things to him. It made his heart flutter, his mind soar from the affectionate touches on his skin, those fingers gentle, ever so gentle on his legs.

“More than okay,” he breathed, smiling at the man above him. 

Wiggling his hips lightly, he could feel the massive length splitting him open, could feel the way Geralt was pressed flush against his ass. It felt bloody amazing. His cock twitched at the delectable friction the movement provided, twin groans rising in the air, both of their breathing labored now. 

“Move,” he demanded breathlessly, eager for more.

And Geralt moved. A filthy moan escaped him as Geralt slowly pulled out, the feeling of that thick girth leaving him too delicious for him to keep quiet.

A rumbling groan was torn from Geralt’s throat as he pushed back inside of him, the witcher’s gaze smoldering as he looked down to where Jaskier was taking him in so willingly. His toes curled when that throbbing length was pushed back inside, his back arching at the pleasure of being so _full_.

“Fuck, Geralt,” he moaned helplessly, his fingers running down the expanse of Geralt’s back to urge him on.

He let out a shuddering whine as Geralt slipped out again, the pace agonizingly slow, torturous really, before he rolled his hips forward once more. Jaskier’s fingers dug into sweat-slick skin, but Geralt didn’t seem to mind the sting of blunted nails on his shoulder blades.

Strong muscles rippled above him as Geralt started mouthing along his jawline before nipping at the junction where his throat met his collarbone. Teeth tugged at the flesh, a hot tongue flicking out before another mark was sucked into his skin. And all Jaskier could do was moan at the sheer pleasure coursing through him.

“Mh, ah, more,” he moaned straight into Geralt’s ear, his voice high-pitched and needy. “More, please, please.”

And yet the pace remained unchanged. There was no hurry in Geralt’s movements, no frenzied desire ruling the roll of his hips. No, Geralt was taking his sweet time with him. Savoring him, he realized after a brief moment of clarity. And Jaskier wanted to drown in the warmth that spread through him then.

He rutted back against the dick seated firmly inside of his ass, desperate to give as much as he was receiving. Flexing his thighs, he clenched around Geralt’s cock and reveled in the groan of approval that rumbled through Geralt’s chest in response.

“Fuck, Jask,” Geralt growled into his collarbone, the grip on his thighs tightening ever so slightly.

Eager to hear more sounds coming from his usually taciturn witcher he started meeting Geralt’s movement with more enthusiasm, rocking back onto him on every single thrust. 

Jaskier shuddered at a particularly well-aimed thrust, a needy mewl torn from his throat when Geralt all but bowed down and sucked one of his nipples back into his hot mouth, flicking and swirling his tongue teasingly over the sensitive nub, teeth grazing and biting ever so gently.

Oh gods.

Sparks of pure bliss tingled down his spine as Geralt bit down harder, his hands flying up to tangle themselves into white strands once more. The brief sting of pain was quick to be soothed away by a wicked tongue, the new angle causing Geralt’s cock to shift inside of him, and on the next thrust in Jaskier all but sobbed as it dragged right over his prostate. 

Geralt let out a low, answering growl and surged up to press his lips back against Jaskier’s. A shiver of primal want ran down his spine at the feverish desire with which Geralt was devouring him now, his hips thrusting back into him, jerking forward and burying himself once more as his tongue traced the outline of Jaskier’s lips.

The pitch of Geralt’s growl deepened at his muffled whines, his wolf more than happy to repeat the motion, rocking his hips forward and fucking into his eagerly awaiting hole. And all Jaskier could do was gasp as his prostate was pounded into, his own cock twitching against his abdomen, leaking more and more precum onto his belly. The evidence of his previous pleasure was smeared between their writhing bodies, sticking to them both as Geralt kept languidly rolling into him.

His hands tightened around Geralt’s neck, his tongue delving into the other’s mouth with frantic need as the pleasure inside of him kept building. Heat surged through him as he felt strong fingers dig into his thighs possessively, Geralt’s rhythm faltering briefly before he started picking up the pace.

Geralt was rocking into him faster now, the thrusts stronger, deeper as he took his pleasure from Jaskier’s pliant body. Unabashed hunger burned in those golden eyes as they stared at him, nostrils flaring as he pushed into him with renewed vigor.

Closing his eyes, Jaskier let the sensations take over. The gentle lips dancing over his; the wicked tongue stealing his breath away, twirling around his own with gentle strokes; the hard length pressing into him; the overwhelming pleasure wrecking through him, rendering him into a shivering, whimpering mess of a man.

Wantonly he pressed their bodies closer together, arching his back to get more friction on his neglected cock, eager for anything he could get.

But firm hands held his hips back down again. 

Blue eyes blinked open in betrayal; a whine already half-way past his lips when it turned into a shuddering keen as calloused fingertips reached down to take hold of his cock. His body arched frantically into the touch, desperate for those fingers around his leaking erection, all but bucking into the hold in delirious need.

Incoherent moans fell over his lips as the pressure inside of him kept building, the fire now stoked into a raging inferno. 

He could feel himself constrict involuntarily around Geralt’s length, his muscles clenching on the thick cock fucking him open. Geralt grunted above him, his hips stuttering for a brief second before he found his rhythm again. Breaking their kiss, Geralt’s hand around his aching length squeezed and Jaskier mewled as a thumb traced over his cockhead, collecting the precum now leaking freely.

“Fuck, Jask, you’re so damn tight,” Geralt growled into his ear, and oh gods what was this man doing to him?

Geralt sounded positively _wrecked_.

Shuddering, he let out a low groan, his fingers tugging frantically on Geralt’s hair.

Spurred on, Geralt’s hips jerked faster, then harder, stuttering out of rhythm as he pressed his cock as deep as it could go, the movement of his hand never faltering as it flew over Jaskier’s cock. And Jaskier all but sobbed at the stimulation. He could feel Geralt shifting his angle slightly, filling and re-filling his tight, slippery channel over and over, making him moan and keen.

He whined as those wicked fingers danced over his cock, the fire scorching through his veins threatening to overwhelm him completely.

So close. _So close_

Oh gods.

Crying out in torturous delight, his body jolted, unadulterated pleasure wrecking through him as Geralt forced his length straight into Jaskier’s prostate again. 

Throwing his head back against the pillow, eyes shut tight, he convulsed in Geralt’s arms; his second orgasm taking him by storm as he spurted hot seed all over their heaving chests, ribbon of ribbon of white being fucked straight out of him.

He could feel Geralt increase his pace, the thrust sharper as he chased his own release with wanton desperation. Jaskier’s walls rippled against the cock still plunging deep inside of him, his muscles constricting around the thick length as he rode out his orgasm, Geralt’s hand milking the last bit of his spend out of him.

Panted breaths fanned over his collarbone and with a few last stuttered thrusts and a loud groan he could feel Geralt spilling himself deep inside of him. Warmth pooled low in his belly, the cock inside of him pulsing with the last of his witcher’s release as Geralt claimed him inside and out.

And Jaskier felt complete and utterly boneless.

A small kiss was pressed against his thoroughly marked-up throat before Geralt shifted his hips back and slipped out of his ass.

He could feel Geralt’s seed slowly trickle out of his abused hole, down his thighs and onto the sheets, but he currently cared very little about sullying the fabric further. His mind was too blissed out to care.

Strong arms circled around his waist, pulling him closer. A soft sound escaped him as he was shifted onto his side and tugged against a firm chest. He curled into the hold, happily tangling their legs together and letting his arm drape over Geralt’s waist.

Warm hands started trailing soft touches over his side and back then, rubbing soothing patterns into his skin, and Jaskier let out happy hum at the sensation, utterly content to just stay in this little bubble and never leave. 

“Jask?” Geralt’s voice brought him out of his small reverie and with a curious expression he glanced up.

“Yes, my dear witcher?”

“You were never a burden,” Geralt said calmly, and Jaskier couldn’t stop the small gasp that fell over his lips.

“O-oh, I’m glad to hear that, Geralt,” he said softly, a small genuine smile on his lips. How had the other known that those words troubled him even now?

“I’m sorry I said those things on the mountain. It was unjust.”

“You were already forgiven the first time you apologized, you oaf,” Jaskier teased, his finger prodding against the frown in between Geralt’s brows.

“So then… will you join me again, on the Path?” Geralt asked, hesitantly.

“I doubt I’ll be able to walk come morning, “Jaskier chuckled, “but yes, of course I’ll join you, Geralt.”

Jaskier smiled at the low, pleased hum that rumbled through Geralt’s chest in response and closed his eyes in contentment, letting the sound soothe him.

“We could stay another night,” Geralt offered, “or you could ride Roach.”

Jaskier’s head jerked up at that, blue eyes flicking upwards to stare at his witcher in flabbergasted disbelief.

_Ride Roach?!_

Had Geralt really just offered that? Was he hallucinating?

Wait. Was all of this naught but a dream?

But no, the firm chest he was pressed against was still there, his body still trapped in the tender embrace of his white wolf.

Amber eyes swiveled down as the stunned silence stretched on, no doubt confused or concerned by Jaskier’s sudden muteness.

But his thoughts were still trying to align themselves with reality.

Despite the fact that he wouldn’t be able to ride much of anything tomorrow, given how thorough Geralt had been, he couldn’t deny the fondness tugging at his heartstrings at the gesture.

And the way Geralt was looking at him now. 

_Oh._

His breath caught as the realization hit him.

An elated smile spread across his face, his eyes brimming with affection as he let the revelation wash through him.

“You really _do_ love me, don’t you?” Jaskier smiled.

For once he wasn’t nervous to hear Geralt’s response. His newly mended heart beat with certainty that it had his witcher’s love.

A calloused hand reached up to cup his cheek before it trailed behind his ear to rake through his soft, damp locks. Golden eyes studied his joyous expression carefully, almost as if Geralt was memorizing this moment. _Memorizing him._

“I do,” Geralt said eventually.

And all the grunts in the world were worth those two small words.

They rang between them like a soft melody, and Jaskier felt near tearing up, butterflies fluttering in his chest when Geralt gently tugged his head down and pushed it back against his broad chest. “Sleep now, little lark. You need it.”

Unwilling to argue with the soft command, Jaskier all but melted into the warm embrace.

Little lark. He could get used to that. 

Closing his eyes, he let out a contented sigh, and after a brief moment of reveling in the blissful intimacy between them, he finally, _finally_ let the words he’d held prisoner for far too long tumble over his lips.

“I love you too, Geralt.

I commissoned the amazing [Sayuri527](https://twitter.com/Sayuri527art) for an artpiece to go with this fanfic and the result is just stunning. I'm so in love with it 💗💗

[Here’s the rebloggable, but censored tumblr version.](https://choulatte.tumblr.com/post/616373387439276032/i-commissioned-the-amazing-sayuri527-to-draw-a)

Do NOT repost/edit or use without permission!

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you goes to [thisgirlsays22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlsays22/pseuds/thisgirlsays22) for beta-ing this beast of a oneshot. Thank you so much! 💗
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated 💗 I always enjoy hearing what you guys thought!
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://choulatte.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chou_latte)  
>   
>   
>   
> [The Fic-link on tumblr, if you'd like to share <3 ](https://choulatte.tumblr.com/post/613203578011680768/forever-wanting-more-choulatte-wied%C5%BAmin-the)


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